In God’s Mind

Today, at last, it had evolved from probably-a-good-idea

into inarguable law. He’d learned whenever he saw something

he knew others would find very odd, which lately it had often

fallen to his awed regard to witness like a prophesy, so stirringly

absurd it might have come from God, he knew he’d have to keep

his maw shut. No one will believe me, he explains, that I saw Thor

and his associates drop lightning bolts last Sunday from the astral

plane at midnight over Staten Island; nobody would heed me now

if I avowed I just espied a multi-colored self-impelled contraption

flapping just above Gowanus, south of the canal, from which

several voices, mostly baritone, in Brooklyn accents, could be heard

intoning hymns to Venus and Adonis. He’d been rebuffed enough

when he’d attempted to relay such miracles before: he’d need

no more admonishment to keep these secrets to himself: he’d

carefully inscribe, in code, his bold (and very likely God-derived)

illuminations in a private notebook he’d keep hidden on a shelf

no one would ever find.

It didn’t matter after all.

They’re in God’s mind.

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